Control Issues
by arianna99
Summary: SPOILERS FOR 5.13! Slash, Dean/Castiel. Sam ribs Dean about his TV preferences, Cas is confused, Dean has control issues, and things get talked about. Possibly a bit more serious than the summary sounds. Rating no joke.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Control Issues  
Rating: NC-17  
Fandom/Pairing: SPN/ Dean/Castiel  
Disclaimer: Not mine  
Warnings/Notes: Extreme spoilers for 5.08. Most likely the lamest title in existance.

Summary: Sam ribs Dean about Dr. Sexy, Cas is confused, Dean has control issues and in the end, a few things are talked about. (...okay, it's a little bit more serious than the summary makes it sound, but you get the drift)

The Trickster always gave Dean shivers down his spine. Even before he was Gabriel – or rather, before Dean knew he was Gabriel, he always gave Dean shivers down his spine. He was just _creepy, _in an unstable, deranged way, the particular brand of _eurgh _that was like sitting on an airplane, belted to that fricking uncomfortable seat and shaking through a series of stomach-turning turbulences…and then suddenly being attacked by a million grinning clowns.

Dean has issues about control sometimes. He knows that. One of the many, many (reasonable and thoroughly understandable) reasons he hates flying is because he's not controlling the damn thing, some other guy is, and he just has to trust that guy knows what he's doing and won't make them all crash in a fiery ball of destruction. One of the many, many reasons he's not letting Michael anywhere near him is because, along with certain death and destruction, blah, blah, blah, the idea of someone else riding around in his body with him trapped somewhere on the inside makes him physically ill.

It's why he exorcized Meg the way he did, back when she was still Meg, not Sam and not that random chick she was in last time they met. Because death had to be better than being a prisoner inside yourself.

Dean's control issues, if he's feeling really crappy about himself, are possibly also a reason it never worked out with Cassie. Beyond the whole secret-demon-killer thing. And the part where he could never have stayed in that dinky little town forever.

Point is, the Trickster (or, he supposes, Gabriel) totally gets off on taking away his control of a situation. He makes things happen that never, ever should, he sticks Dean in situations and makes him _play a role_, and Dean fucking hates it.

Right now, mostly, what he wants is to get back to their ugly-ass motel room with the bright blue flowers on the wall, sit down on his bed and breathe deeply for as long as it takes for him to reassert his control over the situation.

God, would Sam ever make fun of him if he knew that.

Dean's not calling it meditation. That's for hippies. It's a breathing exercise Dad taught him around the time he taught him to shoot for the first time. It helps him to stay calm. That's it.

Anyway. The time for that is so not now, because Sam is sitting on the other bed, drinking a beer and being an aimless lost puppy because he's not sure what they do now. Cas is standing awkwardly somewhere at a wall.

"Sit down, Cas," Dean says, patting the space beside him on the bed. "Sheets are ugly as hell, but they don't bite."

Cas does the head-tilt thing and Dean can practically see the thought process in his head go from _Why would I think it bites? – Oh. Linguistic device. _He sits down stiffly next to Dean, still in his trench coat and shoes.

Dean grins. Some things never change (he thinks briefly of future Cas, scruffy and drunk and _wrong_ and decides not to tell Cas he can take off his shoes).

"I'm never going to be able to watch TV again," Dean says in the ensuing silence, taking a sip of his own beer.

"Well, one thing about it doesn't make sense," Sam says. His shoulders aren't tense, so Dean knows it's not going to be an issue, and he has the superior bitchface, so Dean knows Sam's about to say something mean.

"What?" Cas asks. He hasn't learned to read Sam too well yet.

It kind of makes Dean feel funny on the inside, that Cas knows him from all sides, by heart, can reach down into the deepest pits of Dean's insecurities, and still has no clue what Sam means most of the time. It goes both ways; Dean's noticed he can read Cas' expressions better these days, from _emoangel _to _confuzzled_. He's not sure Sam's noticed.

"Why the hell does Dean know so much about Dr. Sexy, MD?"

Sam's grinning now, and if Dean's masculinity hadn't just taken a hit, he'd be happy Sam's happy.

"Told you," Dean says, flushing up to his hairline. "Guilty pleasure."

Cas is looking at him intently, unblinking, cataloguing the rise of blood to the surface of Dean's skin, watching as his freckles become less obvious in the light pink color his skin is now.

Dean's seen that look before.

"Guilty pleasure?" Sam asks, oblivious to what's going on next to him and enjoying the chance to tease his brother too much to care either way. "I'm sorry, and I quote, 'part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the cowboy boots'? That's not guilty pleasure, that's, like, flailing fangirl."

"Shut up," Dean says, blushing harder. Sam should not, should never, have picked up on that, that is all kinds of bad.

Cas' eyes are still on him, though, which is strange, and kind of nice. He's doing the head-tilt again, and asking, "Boots are arousing?"

Dean has to laugh, because he suddenly has an image of Cas, naked except for cowboy boots, and it's a tie as to whether that's sexy or ridiculous.

Sam, meanwhile, has that look (embarrassed bitchface) that means he thinks Dean has been spending too much time with Cas. "Uh, not really," he says, and he's probably considering how to make this sound like an anthropology lecture.

Fuck that. "It's a TV show, Cas," Dean says. "Mostly, women watch it. And women like dangerous guys."

"And boots are dangerous," Cas says, in what, for anyone else, would be a deadpan voice. He looks pointedly at Dean's boots, lying next to the bed.

Dean shrugs. "Not really. Sort of. I guess. It's not logical or anything. Women are weird."

"But you watch the show, too," Cas points out. "And you are not a woman."

No, Cas has had ample proof of that.

He's also had ample proof that women are not the only people who can be attracted to Dr. Sexy, or he should have, given that Cas and Dr. Sexy have a few features in common (though Cas has way better eyes), and he should know not to ask that question in front of Sam.

Because Sam, being the bitch that he is, is laughing and saying, "Aw, Dean just has a big ole crush on Dr. Sexy, doesn't he?"

And now Cas has that other look, the one that means, _complex human emotions are complex_. "Do you, Dean?"

And Sam's laughing harder, because apparently the idea that Dr. Sexy is sexy is completely hilarious.

"I do not understand," Cas says in his usual tone of rumpled dignity. "Why is that amusing?"

"Why _isn't _it?" Sam asks, finally realizing that Cas wasn't joking (idiot. Cas doesn't joke very well), and that Dean has his _train wreck, carnage, must look away but somehow can't _face.

"I have difficulty understanding Dean's sexual urges sometimes," Cas says.

Sam does _bitchy bitchface_. "Uh, Cas, I don't think you need to understand Dean's, um, sexual urges. I don't think anyone does. But especially not, uh, you."

"Why?"

"Well, you're…an angel."

"So?" Cas asks, in an almost perfect imitation of the rugged military doctor who guest starred on Dr. Sexy, MD a few weeks ago.

"Well, isn't the whole…guys looking at guys thing kind of a sin for you guys?" Sam asks.

Dean's kind of astounded Sam's jumped straight from Dean having sex to homosexuality is bad without connecting the two, but hey, if it saves him from another bitchface, he's happy.

"No," Cas says. "Sexuality and variations thereof are part of human nature, and the Father sees and loves all humans."

"Huh," Sam says. "Okay, this is way too weird for right now. I'm gonna go get dinner somewhere. You guys wanna come?"

"No thanks," Dean says. "I'mma stay here."

"Sure?" Sam asks, concerned face. Dean doesn't usually skip dinner.

"Yeah, not hungry," Dean says.

"Okay. Cas?"

"I will stay here as well."

The vacuum of confusion Sam leaves in the room is calming. It's like there are all these issues sitting squarely between them when it's all three of them; Sam's guilt and envy that Dean got an angel and he didn't, Dean's need to protect both his baby brother and the man-angel who saved him from hell and heaven, Dean's confusion over whom he trusts more, the series of roadblocks that make up communication between Sam and Cas, the stuff Dean and Cas haven't told Sam, and on and on and on.

When it's just Dean and Sam, or just Dean and Cas, everything's okay.

"How you doing, Cas?" Dean asks.

"I'm not sure," Cas says. Understandable. "Do you think Gabriel was right?"

"About which part?" Dean asks.

"Any of it," Cas says, and Dean understands in a flash that if Cas were human he'd want Dean to say, no, no, he was completely wrong, but Cas isn't human and he wants an honest answer.

"I have no idea," Dean says. "We can only hope not. Did you…did you two get along?"

"I suppose so," Cas says. "Angels don't really…not get along."

He sighs, then, slumps his shoulders. "This is difficult, Dean," he says.

"Yeah, well, if it were all sunshine and daisies it wouldn't be life," Dean says.

Cas snorts humorlessly, because he has no sense of humor, and because he's also not really that hooked up to the concept of human life.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean says. "You gotta relax, or God'll take one look at you when you find him and tell you you need to go to a spa or something."

Cas mojoes away his coat and shoes and lies back on the bed, probably more because Dean said 'when' and not 'if' than because of the ridiculous platitude. He probably doesn't even know what a spa is.

Dean twists around till he's lying next to Cas, shoulders pressed together, comfortable in a way Dean's only ever been with Sam before.

"Dean, can I-?" Cas asks, or, well, doesn't ask.

"Yeah," Dean says, and Cas kisses him.

Dean's control issues are flexible when it comes to Cas. If Dean were feeling introspective (which he's not, thank you), he would probably have to confess to himself that it's because he trusts Cas.

But hell, Cas gave up heaven for him. He can give a little back. And if that's him on his back, legs up around Cas' borrowed body, hand tangled in Cas' borrowed hair as Cas takes them both as close to heaven as either of them has any of chance of getting these days, then Dean's not going to start complaining anytime soon.

Cas is gorgeous, flushed in ecstasy and striving for more. He's not human, he'll never, ever be human, not if Dean has a say in it, but he's alive in a way Dean revels in. Cas is naïve and innocent in spirit, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel. Anymore.

And Dean's never going to start believing that feeling is wrong, no matter what the holy douchebag brigade says.

Sam comes back when Cas is already resting, eyes closed and body warm against Dean's under the covers. They smell of sweat and sex and Dean's sticky in ways he's not entirely comfortable with, but there's time for showering in the morning. Cas doesn't need to rest, but he's had a long day, and his body is human, even if he isn't, so he deserves a bit of time-out.

There's no way Sam's going to miss the smell of sex or the way Cas nestles close to Dean, and Dean was meaning to do something about that, but he's only human and he's easily led to temptation when there's someone who needs him. It's how he failed Sam and Dad, in the end, but it's a mistake he's never going to learn from, because he needs to be needed and Cas needs to be held.

Sam comes back in quietly, noticing that the lights are off, and is already halfway through the room before he notices the sleeping angel and Dean in bed together.

His eyes go wide and his arms flail momentarily, the way they do when he's upset or shocked, like he's forgotten he's not fourteen anymore, he's grown into his body and he knows what to do with it.

Dean makes a _shhh _motion and slides out from under the covers. He pulls on a pair of jeans (without boxers, because he doesn't really know where those went) and jerks his head for Sam to follow him outside.

With the door closed, Sam just gapes at him like a dead fish.

"Sorry about that," Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Cas took the whole thing with Gabriel really hard-"

"So you slept with him?" Sam asks incredulously, arms flailing again.

"So he needed…he just needed, okay?" Dean says.

"Jesus," Sam says, rubbing a hand over his mouth and turning away like he does when he's trying to process. "I thought we were all joking about the Dr. Sexy stuff."

"Cas doesn't always recognize humor," Dean says.

"I'm getting that. Are you- why? I mean…is…you want it, right?"

"Course I do, Sammy," Dean says. "Wouldn't be doing it if I didn't."

"Since when do you?"

Dean's not entirely sure he's ready for this. "Look, we don't have to talk about this."

And that's when Sam gets Ultimate Bitchface. The one that gets capital letters. The one that says, _oh, really? Cuz, y'know, I don't think so. _"How long, Dean?" He asks, with that voice that sounds badass to other people.

"With Cas, since…Lilith died. With guys. Um. Always?"

"Why the hell didn't you ever tell me?"

"It's not like we talk about this shit!" Dean practically explodes with thirty-plus years of trying to be exactly what his family needed and cutting off whatever part of himself didn't match with John's soldier and Sammy's brother. "It's not like I could just say, 'Oh, yeah, and by the way, Sammy, I like dick'. And Dad? Could never have told him. It's cool, I'm bi anyway, and it's not like I ever had relationships."

"But Cas…" Sam says.

"Cas is different," Dean says, and doesn't say, _Cas needs me because he chose to, _or _Cas lets me need him, _or even _Cas says he's sorry when he hurts me, _because he's not a fucking girl.

"This is weird," Sam says.

"Not as weird as bloodplay," Dean mutters under his breath, and Sam's shoulders hunch with guilt.

"Look, I'm sorry," Dean says. "I should've talked to you earlier. But, dude, I don't do the whole talking thing."

"Okay," Sam says. "Can we at least get separate rooms when you fuck?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "If you promise not to take off on your own and do something stupid."

Sam sighs. "I thought we were trying to get over that."

"We are," Dean says blankly. "Rebuilding trust is part of the process, and it takes a while, you can't just expect everything to work because you want it to. Don't you ever watch Dr. Phil?"

Sam shakes his head. "Your TV habits just started making way more sense."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean says, "I'm still more badass than you."

"I always knew you were overcompensating."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The door creaks open, and Cas steps out, hair mussed and tie even more crooked than usual. "Did something happen?"

"No," Dean says. "Sorry, I had to talk to Sam."

Cas gives him a questioning look, and Dean nods.

"Oh," Cas says. "Will you come back to bed, then?"

"Yeah," Dean says, pointedly ignoring the warm glow he gets when Cas says that, words rolling from borrowed lips like they were meant to. "What about you, Sammy?"

Sam grimaces. "I'm sleeping in the car. Sorry. It's just weird. I think I need to get used to it."

Dean shrugs. "Your back. G'night, little brother."

Sam smiles, just a bit, and Dean knows he's not going to get another bitchface tonight. "Night, Dean. Cas."

Cas inclines his head. "Good night, Sam." Cas is in Dean's personal space again, as usual, and it's comfortable instead of intrusive, and Sam's eyes are calculating, like he's trying to understand them, and that's good, it means someday he'll figure it out and accept it.

In the end, there are three people Dean's control issues don't apply to.

One was John Winchester. He taught Dean control in the first place, and he's not in the picture anymore. The second is Sam Winchester, because there's nothing Dean won't do for Sam, including give up control. The third is Castiel, because he and Dean are on equal footing. The need and trust goes both ways, and the stumbling, trembling, halting threads of affection and commitment are still hanging free in the space between them, but they're getting there.

It's just a bit like those breathing exercises, being around Cas. It helps Dean center himself in a world spinning ever faster towards annihilation.

If Dean were allowing himself time to think about this instead of the possible fiery destruction of the earth and the possible fratricide in his future, he would think that it's kind of what he's always wanted.

But he's not thinking about it, because overthinking sucks, and everything's okay. For now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Milestones  
**Fandom/Pairing: **SPN / Dean/Castiel  
**Rating: **Hard R  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Spoilers: **Everything up to 5x09, fairly extensive references to late S4  
**Notes: **Companion/Sequel to my previous fic Control Issues. Will make more sense if you've read that.

**Summary: **Dean and Cas come to terms with each other and with Sam, in that order.

It's not so much a male thing as it is a Cas thing.

That is, Dean's always been into guys, but he's never even thought about doing _this _with a guy before. He tried it with Cassie once, but on the whole, the only person he's ever had a serious relationship with is Sam, and they're not like that, thank you very much.

Cas is different, though. His borrowed body is all hard planes and perpetually unshaven cheeks, male so obviously it makes Dean feel a little bit safe and at home. He suspects this is a direct consequence of Dean's "daddy issues", as Zachariah called them, but he would never admit it out loud.

And that, in essence, is why it has to be Cas. Because with Cas, Dean doesn't actually have to say it out loud. Cas knows anyway. Cas seems to know everything about him in a way no one ever has, but he still fails to understand.

It's a heady combination for Dean, having someone unbelievably ancient and powerful and _good _who knows every single hidden facet of his person and yet never tires of getting to know him.

And Dean has a lot of flaws, but he's never been selfish, not one day of his life, and he's not starting now. It goes both ways. He doesn't quite know why or how, but he _gets _Cas, on an instinctual level. He knows when Cas is there without having to turn around, sometimes by the telltale flutter of wings, sometimes by the feel of Cas there next to him.

He can read Cas like an open book, knows his expressions and mannerisms almost as well as Sam's, the difference being that he's known Sam all his life and Cas for a year and a half. It doesn't make logical sense, but that's just how it is,

And when Cas touches him (anywhere, really, but especially that damn handprint on Dean's arm), Dean can practically feel Cas inside him, which is not at all dirty, no matter how it sounds. Those are the times he only needs to look at Cas to be able to practically mindmeld like fricking Vulcans.

Anna refers to this as spiritual eye-sex, but Cas hasn't told Dean that.

It feels like a natural progression for the most part.

Cas kisses Dean for the first time, sweetly, chastely, after Alastair. Sam is conspicuously absent, and Dean is about to leave the hospital. Cas has been here more often than not. Dean knows, even though Cas pretends he's not lovingly lurking around, perching on Dean's proverbial shoulder. Dean can feel his fine-feathered presence in the room even after he vanishes. In a weird way, Cas watching over him makes him feel safer. Also a bit creeped out, but that's okay.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Cas asks as Dean pulls on his boots.

"I think I need to put a bell around your neck," Dean says, as if he didn't feel Cas coming a second before he did.

"I'm still an angel of the Lord," Cas says, and Dean can hear, without looking at Cas, the weariness in that, a twisted layer of cynicism he doesn't quite get, until he does.

"Did you kill Uriel?" He asks.

"Yes," Cas says. "And no. I would have."

"Who did?"

"Anna."

If Dean's surprised Anna's still around, it doesn't show on his face. "Anna killed him for disobedience? That's ironic."

"It was a life and death situation. Our superiors would surely have done the same," Cas says blankly.

"But, so, you're taking Anna over Uriel?"

"Uriel wanted to raise the devil," Cas says.

"That does put a damper on your relationship," Dean deadpans, before he remembers that Cas doesn't get pop culture references.

Cas does the head tilt (and Dean drinks a mental shot, because that is how the Castiel drinking game works: one shot for every head tilt, two for every apology, and a sip of beer for every reference to heaven and/or god. It's possible Dean was drunk when he came up with that in the first place) and says, "Indeed."

"Cas?" Dean asks tentatively. "What happened to Alastair?"

"Sam," Cas says.

"Sam exorcized him?"

"No," Cas says, and this would probably be a lot easier if Cas would move his facial muscles at all to give any indication of how he's feeling beyond the impenetrable wall of the Meaningful Stare. "Sam killed him."

Oh. "With the knife?" He has to ask, after all.

"With his mind, Dean."

And that, that's just…bad.

"I'm sorry," Cas says (two shots), and one of his hands rests tentatively on Dean's shoulder. Something inside Dean fixes itself just a little bit. He doesn't need to ask to know that when Cas says Sam killed Alastair with his mind he doesn't mean a quick, neat kill, but these things can't be changed.

"Sorry about Uriel," Dean says.

"Thank you," Cas says gravely.

Boots finally on, Dean stands up, ignoring the jolt of dizziness. He needs to find some water before he goes and finds Sam.

Cas' hand is still on his shoulder.

Cas' head tilts to the side, and before Dean can even think about shots, Cas leans in and presses their dry, chapped lips together in a kiss that's more meaningful and less romantic than any other Dean's ever had.

"Be careful," Cas tells him, the words tingling against Dean's lips.

"You, too," Dean says to the empty room, still feeling the ghost of Cas' eyelashes fluttering open against his cheek.

-

They don't mention it, later, either of them, but they aren't pretending it didn't happen, if that even makes sense. It's more a silent acknowledgement that neither of them quite knows what to make of it.

It takes a while, before it happens again. Dean's almost certain Cas wants to every time they meet, but he doesn't dare ask. Not when anyone could hear, not when he doesn't know what it means.

Mostly, Dean just knows there's something in Cas' eyes, standing in Chuck's own personal House of Crap, when he says, "You should have seen Luke," something that says he knows Dean so well he's stolen Dean's mannerism of pointedly using humor to distract from an issue he can't deal with.

Not bad, for a guy who thinks Uriel is funny.

But it doesn't really make Dean proud. It depresses him.

The next time he wants to kiss Cas, Cas is in his dream. It's a quiet, peaceful dream. Dean is fishing, and he's bored. Not jittery-nervous-trapped-in-the-motel-room bored, but honest-to-god, nothing-to-do bored.

Dean wants this. For himself, for Sammy, and for Cas, too, and that last one surprises him. He doesn't really do the altruism thing that often. But Cas is standing next to him, wearing that goddamn trench coat, worry line creasing his forehead, and for a second, just a second, Dean wants to stand up, use his thumb to smooth out the line and kiss every inch of Castiel's skin.

Of course, then Cas has to go and tell him people could be listening in on what's going on inside Dean's head, and that puts an end to that particular line of thought.

-

Jimmy Novak completely freaks Dean out. He's human. He's normal. A bit too religious for Dean's tastes, a father.

He's not Dean's. Not like Cas is. He doesn't often think that, and he squashes the thought when he catches himself, but ever so often, it pops up without Dean's say-so, and he looks at Cas and thinks _mine _and also _his, _which is so wrong and so true Dean doesn't quite know what to do with it.

Jimmy just gives Dean a feeling of estrangement. Jimmy's the guy Dean will never be, with the wife and the kid and that old-school religion. And Dean can't guess how much Jimmy remembers about being stuck inside himself with Cas. Maybe he knows what Cas is thinking about all this stuff. Maybe he knows how Dean feels about Cas. Maybe he knows Dean is way too into his body.

It's a mess. It's why he's not too bothered by the idea of Jimmy taking off, but he knows it won't work out that way.

So, yeah, looking at Jimmy kind of hurts. It confuses Dean to the point of not being sure of his own identity anymore.

Dean Winchester. Like the gun. The guy who kills demons. The guy who can tell which shade of grey you can't cross. The womanizer. The manly man.

Cas isn't a woman. Even if he were in a woman, he wouldn't be a woman. The guy thing doesn't bother Dean, obviously, because he likes guys, however little he advertises it. It's everything else. His ridiculous teenage-girl-crush on Cas, his constant desire to just take the angel and kiss him until he can't see straight, and the overwhelming sense he gets from Cas that he is just Dean, not Winchester, not Smith, not anything more or less than exactly who he is.

All this despite the fact that Cas is kind of a dick a lot of the time.

Then again, with John Winchester as a role model it's no wonder Dean kind of likes dicks. And that sounds like a dirty joke.

Dean's Jimmy-related confusion is not helped when Cas re-enters Jimmy (and seriously, Dean needs to find a less euphemistic way to think about the whole vessel thing) and says something confused and confusing about how Dean doesn't control him. Which Dean already knew, thanks.

He has no aspirations to get Cas to "serve him". He kind of gets off on how he couldn't get Cas to do what he wants if he tried. It makes him feel kind of safe. He doesn't like being in charge of everything half as much as Sammy thinks he does.

But Cas is gone before he can tell him so. And really, Cas knows that about him. Hell, Cas knew why Dean couldn't believe God loved him only seconds after they met. Cas knows him.

Apparently, heaven doesn't know Dean as well as Cas does.

-

Their second kiss happens in the dark, surrounded by broken bits of cars, after Dean swears to "give himself over wholly", and means, "I'll do anything you want if you save my brother", and thinks, "please save me, too".

Cas gives him a look that Dean knows speaks acres of hurt, and before Dean can help himself, he's cupping Jimmy Novak's lightly stubbled cheek in his hand and returning the soft, sweet kiss Cas gave him last time.

Apparently, Cas isn't in the mood for sweet this time, though. He pushes up into the kiss, his lips opening in a sigh, and before Dean knows it, their tongues are tangling intimately, like Cas is reaching inside him and just taking all of him, making Dean his.

And, really, he is. Dean just swore it.

-

"I see inside you," Cas says. Cas is hurting, Cas has been betrayed by the one thing he's never even considered might disappoint him: Heaven. But Cas can man up, because he knows damn well Dean doesn't hurt any less, and he's not giving up because of it.

"I see inside you," Cas says. Dean is scared. He's scared of losing Sammy, he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't lose Sammy. He's scared of Cas, and he's scared of what he would do for Cas. What he will do for Cas.

"I see inside you," Cas says, and Dean wonders if he means it literally.

"I see inside you," Cas says. They're standing in Zachariah's green room, surrounded by angel art. Dean has never felt more out of place in his life.

"I see inside you," Cas says, and Dean has never felt more at home.

"I see inside you," Cas says, and Dean's ready to hear what he sees.

"I see your guilt, anger, confusion," Cas says, and he was being literal, because that is exactly what Dean is feeling right fucking now.

He wants to fix Dean. He wants Dean not to feel that. He wants to fix Dean the only way he's ever known how to, even though he knows it won't work.

"In paradise, all is forgiven," Cas says. _You will even forgive yourself, _he doesn't say. _You will forgive Sam. You will forgive your father. You will forgive me_.

And for one moment, Dean almost wants to say yes, because it would be so fucking easy to just give up. It's been so long, and he wants peace.

But it's never been about Dean, and Dean's never going to forgive himself, not even in paradise, if he doesn't save the world.

"I'll take the pain," Dean says, and he knows Cas understands.

However little he wants to, Cas understands.

Because he's beginning to understand. He's started to feel, and he's started to realize that feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all.

-

Cas travels with Dean, after Lucifer. Not physically, not all the time, but Dean knows Cas is somewhere out there, and has a vague knowledge of where he is at all times. It's surprisingly comforting.

The first time Cas sleeps with him is after Sam leaves.

"I'm sorry," he says when he appears in Dean's single motel room.

"Yeah, well," Dean says, and can't come up with something gruff and macho to deflect with.

Cas kisses him, without all the pretext they had last time, or the time before.

"Are you allowed to do this?" Dean asks against Cas' lips. He doesn't want to ask, not at all. He wants to keep kissing Cas, he wants to curl up inside Cas and kiss and kiss for hours until neither of them can move.

He's scared the answer will be no.

"Since when do you care what I'm allowed to do?" Cas asks back.

"Will this make you fall?" Dean asks.

"Don't flatter yourself," Cas says, and they're back to kissing.

It's pretty much just as Dean imagined it. They fall back on the bed fully clothed, kissing and kissing and not even thinking about taking it any further, just the slow slide of their lips and tongues against each other till Dean's lips are numb and tingling and the exhaustion of his body has caught up with him.

The sleep together that night, pressed tightly together and sharing the same air. Cas doesn't need to sleep. He doesn't need to breathe, either. When they wake up, Dean's first instinct is to lean closer to Cas and inhale his scent, sweat and traces of some aftershave.

"Tell me you're doing this because you want to."

Cas gives him a puzzled look, and for a second, Dean is afraid he's going to say, "But Dean, I don't know how to want."

What he says is, "Why else would I be doing it?" and Dean breathes out a sigh of relief.

-

To be quite honest, Dean doesn't really know why he thinks it's a good idea to take Cas to a whorehouse. It's something fucked up about Cas not understanding the complexities of human carnality.

Cas sets him straight once they're out of there.

"I don't want anyone else," is the essence of his statement, and it ends with Dean's ankles hooked together behind Cas' back, on his back in a crappy motel room bed, closing his eyes against the intensity of every single almost painful inch of Cas' considerable patience and attention going in to fucking him till he can't even scream.

It's pretty much the ride of his life. It ends with him whispering Cas' name over and over as he comes his brains out on his own stomach, and it ends with Cas' eyes clenching shut briefly and then falling open to bathe Dean in intense blue as Cas' mouth hangs open and he experiences his first ever orgasm.

Dean falls a little bit in love.

-

So on the whole, it's a Cas thing, not a guy thing. It's Cas he's with, not some random guy. The fact that Cas looks and acts like a guy is good, for Dean, but it's not pivotal.

It's still the guy thing that freaks Dean out more when Sammy finds out.

It makes sense, inasmuch as things ever make sense in Dean's head. If it were just a Special Angel thing, it wouldn't be such a big issue for Sam, he thinks. Special circumstances explain most of their lives.

But Dean basically told him that he's always been into guys. And that makes it more than a special circumstance, that makes it a lie Dean has been telling Sam for a long time.

Cas was always and will always be a special circumstance, Dean would like to point out, because he's Cas. He's Dean's angel, literally. He's Dean's soldier and Dean's lover and the only being alive Dean will ever sleep with like that, pressed tight together to avoid the nightmares. Cas is also the only being alive, beyond Sammy, where Dean will admit to reciprocity outside of bed, because he's Cas' soldier just as much as Cas is his, and Dean's not really talking about the lover thing, but yeah, that too.

The fact remains, though, that Dean likes the feel of Cas' male arms around him, and the scratch of Cas' male stubble and Cas' very male penis in his ass.

And that is not so much a special circumstance as par for the course.

Sam makes a point of not talking about it for a long time after he finds out. They get separate rooms in the same motel, they travel with an angel in the backseat, but they don't talk about it, and Dean doesn't dare kiss Cas when Sam can see. He can't lose Sam, not now.

Cas gets it.

Of course he does.

Doesn't make Dean feel any less shitty, but at least Cas isn't insulted.

Dean also carefully doesn't tell Sam about Demian and Barnes. The last thing Sam needs right now is another gay reminder, especially after that damn thing about the homoerotic subtext in Supernatural (and trust Chuck to let them suffer through that, even though he must know about Cas).

Bobby completely freaks out when he discovers they're sleeping in separate rooms. It's a sign of the apocalypse, he's sure, and he ends up pounding at Dean's door late at night, cursing his wheelchair, the Winchesters, and life in general.

It's Cas who answers the door, frown line pronounced on his forehead at the idea of someone disturbing Dean's sleep.

Mostly, what Bobby says to that is, "Oh."

"I think we need to talk," Sam says the next morning, and they do, leaving Cas and Bobby to awkwardly not talk over a greasy diner breakfast.

"I don't get why you never told me," Sam says."I don't care about the guy thing, and the Cas thing is your business, but I don't get why you never told me." He's lying- he does kind of care about the guy thing, and he cares way more about the Cas thing, but Dean's going to just pretend to believe him for now.

"I was scared," Dean says.

It's pretty much as simple as that.

"You didn't have to be," Sam says.

"I know that now," Dean says.

"You should've always known."

"I didn't, though."

"And Cas gets that?"

Dean laughs helplessly. "Cas made me from scratch, Sammy, he knows pretty much everything."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Hell, yeah," Dean says. "It means he's not gonna try to be more important than you."

Sam can understand that much. It makes things a bit easier.

Cas kisses Dean in public the first time that day, a swift peck, before he blushes, ducks his head and vanishes in a swirl of wing-noises.

It's the latest on a long list of firsts that summarizes their relationship, such as it is, a thready, tremulous thing dwarfed by looming apocalypse, but then Sam looks over at him and says, "You know, I always thought if you ever had a real relationship, the world would have to be ending. Guess I was right."

It's not funny. It's not even vaguely humorous. They both laugh anyway, because it's a start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Laugh Lines (Wise Men Say)**

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel, heavily featuring Sam  
**Warnings:** Brief mention of past prostitution

**Summary: **Dean doesn't know a home-cooked meal tastes best, is Cas' theory.

-

Dean doesn't know home-cooked meals taste the best, is Cas' theory.

John could never bear to tell him about the meatloaf Mary used to make, and junk food or cheap, starch-laden things like Uncle Ben's rice or tortellini you just had to dump into hot water and pour some tomato sauce from a jar over were easier on the Winchester pockets, as Sam explains things.

That means Dean's never bothered to make a proper meal for himself. When there was enough money, it usually went for take-out or clothes for Sam. Dean never worked hard to make his own meal, and never had the glorious revelation afterwards that it tastes magically better when he's put effort into it.

Dean should guess, really – he puts a lot of stock into what he can make and touch with his own two hands.

Quite honestly, Cas doesn't know either. He has theoretical knowledge. He has theoretical knowledge of most aspects of humanity, truth be told, but it's like being told that bacon tastes good and _actually tasting _bacon. You don't fully understand until you've experienced it.

Cas likes bacon.

The point is, though, Cas wants to experience human life, now that he can feel things. He wants Dean to experience human life, as well, because he hasn't, really. Not the things Jimmy loved most about humanity, the things Cas remembers in sepia tones in the back of his borrowed mind, church on Sundays, shoveling snow off the walkway, and the taste of a meal he'd made himself.

Dean has experienced the dark, shady, seedy, occasionally greasy and tearstained underbelly of humanity. He has found joy, and pleasure, and perhaps something he sees as a home in it, but Cas wants Dean to experience everything. He thinks Dean deserves it. Also, feeling is novel and exciting to Cast, and he wants to share it.

This explains why he bought _The Joy of Cooking _and is in the process of reading it, cover to cover.

Sam catches him perusing the various recipes for something called Angelfood cake. Cas doesn't quite comprehend, and says as much, because angels do not require sustenance.

Sam laughs for three minutes and twenty-two seconds, and then asks Cas why the hell he's reading _The Joy of Cooking. _

Cas doesn't know how to explain himself, but, tentatively, he tells Sam about feeling things, and about Jimmy, and Dean.

Sam nods, not because he understands, but because he wants to. He takes Cas to the store just a block from this week's abandoned shack, and they buy ingredients together.

The kitchen has a tiny built-in stove. It's crusted with strange brown spots and slightly creaky, but it's better than nothing, and it still functions.

"What's going on here?" Dean asks when they troop in with January snow in their hair and groceries in brown paper bags.

"We're making dinner," Cas says.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"His idea," Sam says, jabbing a finger at Cas.

"Jimmy once informed me that a meal cooked at home tastes the best," Cas says. "I wish to test this theory."

Dean frowns. "Just to clarify, we haven't forgotten about the apocalypse happening, right?"

"I feel we would all benefit from some amount of rest," Cas says calmly.

"Can I talk to you for a second, Cas?" Dean asks.

They stand outside in the snow, Dean rubbing his hands together to generate warmth, while Cas waits for Dean to say what he wants to say.

They haven't so much as kissed since Joanna and Ellen Harvelle died. Cas doesn't know why, but he knows Dean cared for both of them and he doesn't wish to pry, because Dean has a tendency to push people who pry far, far away.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asks.

"I'm fine, Dean," Cas says, presuming Dean is not referring to his increasing loss of his angelic powers, but to his mental health.

"Really? Because, cooking?"

"You have been…upset, since the Harvelles died," Cas says. "I have heard this sort of thing might help."

"Help?" Dean says. "Is it gonna make them less dead?"

"You know I can't do that," Cas snaps. "I don't understand, Dean."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Dean says.

Cas waits.

"Night before they died," Dean says. "I hit on Jo."

"I don't understand," Cas says. Why would Dean want to hurt Joanna?

"I came on to her. I asked her to sleep with me."

Cas tilts his head to the side, trying to understand. "Why?"

Dean runs a hand through his short hair. "I don't know. I was freaking out."

"Why?"

"It was just…something you said."

"What?"

"I don't even remember. It was just important."

"Why?"

"Dammit, Cas," Dean says. "Stop doing that."

"What?"

"That." Dean gestures wildly. "The…the questions. Sound just like Sammy when he was trying to annoy the hell out of me."

Cas has an image of Sam as a small child, sitting in the back seat of the Impala asking "why?" over and over again just to see how many answers Dean could come up with.

"Can you tell me why it was important?" Cas asks.

"Because I just looked at you and realized I was in love with you and…and…"

Cas looks at Dean, nonplussed. "I already knew you were."

"Great, just great," Dean says. "Fucking perfect. You're an angel, Cas. You deserve better."

"You're God's chosen," Cas says. "If you know where I can find better, I'll be very surprised."

"Yeah. Okay. Now I feel really fucking better."

Cas frowns a bit.

"Seriously, what's up with the cooking?"

"I thought it would help. And you've never had a real home-cooked meal," Cas explains.

Dean snorts.

They head back inside, and Cas says, "You do know I love you too?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Somehow, I guessed."

It occurs to Cas that Dean is very far away from Jimmy's normal life. It's possible home-cooked meals don't do much for people who don't believe in home.

"So what're we making?" Dean asks.

"Lasagna," Sam says, peering at the recipe.

Dean makes that snorting sound again. "Have you ever cooked a meal in your life, Sammy?"

"Well, no," Sam says, "but that doesn't mean I can't learn."

"Fuck's sake," Dean says. "Gimme that."

He studies the recipe briefly, and then gives Sam a casserole dish. "Grease that."

"With what?" Sam asks.

"Butter, doofus," Dean says. He begins opening packages of pasta.

"You _have _done this before," Cas says, strangely disappointed.

"Of course I've frigging done this before," Dean says.

"When?" Sam asks.

"Dude. When we were kids. Who'd you think did all the cooking?"

"Well, yeah, but didn't we mostly just eat stuff like pasta and rice and shit?" Sam asks.

"Still gotta learn how to cook that," Dean says. "Not like we never had lasagna. When we had the money for meat."

Something bitter flashes in Dean's expression, and Cas suddenly understands.

"Oh," he says. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't…"

"Yeah, well, no one fucking does, so-"

"What's going on?" Sam asks.

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean says. "Home cooked doesn't taste any different from diner food, that's all."

"It did to you," Cas says, studying the strength of character that is the only thing holding Dean upright at present. "It turned to ashes in your mouth."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Why?"

"_Cas._"

Cas falls silent, watches Dean prepare a lasagna, and considers how to tell him that it doesn't make him worth any less.

Dean puts the dish in the oven, and sits back down at the table. "Dad had a bad head for math," he says eventually.

"I know," Sam says.

"He didn't always leave enough money for us," Dean says. "Or sometimes he was gone longer than he thought, or he couldn't hold down a job. Doesn't matter. There was just usually not enough for everything."

"Okay," Sam says.

"Well, I needed to feed you, didn't I?" Dean asks.

Sam doesn't answer. Cas thinks he probably should.

"Sometimes people took favors instead of money," Dean said. "If you spun them a good sob story. I fixed cars and built shelves and shit."

Sam nods.

"One time this guy who ran a motel asked for a different kinda favor."

Sam raises an eyebrow.

Dean raises both.

Sam's mouth falls a little open.

"He was hot, and we'd been eating Lucky Charms for two days straight trying to pay off the room," Dean continues. "Wasn't really a big deal. Except then it happened a few more times."

He pauses.

"A lot more times."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam says, hand falling onto the table with a thud.

Then, again. "Jesus, Dean. Why the hell…you didn't have to."

Dean gives him a dark look. "Come on, Sammy. What've I got? I got my body, I got my guns, I got you. 'M not crazy smart, don't have marketable talents, and I was a kid and I was desperate. I did what I could with what I had."

"But…fuck, Dean. You said you were…bisexual. Is that why?"

Technically, Cas considers, Dean didn't really say he was bisexual, because he never considered himself in those terms.

"No, Sam. It's just the way I am. I know you're not dealing-"

"I'm dealing. You see me fucking dealing? I'm dealing!" Sam shouts.

"No, you're fucking not dealing," Dean says. "You're in demon blood detox and there's an apocalypse and we lost Jo and Ellen and every time I so much as look at Cas, you flinch."

"It's weird, okay? And it's weirder now you told me you used to be a-"

"Mary Magdalene," Cas says loudly.

"What?" Both Winchester ask.

"Mary Magdalene," Cas says, "became eminently more popular for many when people started thinking she was a prostitute."

"But that's not in the bible," Sam starts. "Pope Gregory-"

Cas holds up a hand. "Delilah remains unsympathetic for betraying a man for money. Acts such as these are highly subjective, Samuel, and a bad thing done for good reasons can be preferable to a good thing done for bad reasons."

Sam stares at him for a moment, before Dean laughs nervously. "I thought conveying the word of God was Chuck's job."

"God has many words," Cas says.

Dean laughs. Really laughs, a warm sound spreading out from his stomach that leaves his shoulders shaking and his lips twitched upwards. It's the first time since Joanna and Ellen died, and Cas notes that it does something strange and fluttery to his insides.

"And Dean?" He says softly, unable to stop himself.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, eyes still shining with mirth.

"I know you think little of yourself in terms of intelligence," he says. If he were paying attention to Sam he would note that Sam is watching them with interest. "But you are wise, in your own way."

Cas knows Dean is thinking of old men with wrinkled brows and beards.

"Real wise men," Cas says, before Dean can object, "don't have wrinkles. They have laugh lines."

It's hardly Cas' fault that Dean grabs his tie and pulls him across the rickety table for a kiss.

Sam clears his throat after a moment.

"Sorry," Dean says.

"No, no," Sam says. "It's fine. Just…we're planning on eating there."

Dean grins.

"So," he says, after a while. "Lasagna's done. Hope you're all hungry."

"Angels do not require sustenance," Cas says, for the second time that day, "but I will gladly try it."

Sam chuckles in remembrance. "You know, we should really have you try Angelfood cake."

Dean groans. "Oh, man, that's an awesome idea."

Cas doesn't quite understand, but it seems Sam and Dean are fine again, and Dean is giving him the look that means they'll probably be up half the night, fornicating.

It's a run-down shack in the middle of freezing cold January weather in Minnesota. The stove has strange marks on it, and one of the legs on Cas' chair is shorter than the other, making it wobble.

Cas feels something warm and content in his chest.

Something like satisfaction.

Something like the way Jimmy felt after a home-cooked meal and a kiss from his wife.

Cas smiles, to himself, and at Dean, and considers making a few laugh lines of his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Vigil

**Rating: **PG-13

**Fandom/Pairing: **SPN, Dean/Castiel

**Disclaimer: **Not mine

**Notes: **Follows Control Issues, Milestones and Laugh Lines in a random, loosely canonical verse that is as yet untitled – if you have suggestions, please tell me…

**Summary: **SPOILERS FOR 5x13 Dean is there when Castiel wakes up.

-

Dean is there when Castiel wakes up.

"Mornin', sleepyhead," he says, and Cas automatically reaches up to touch his hair, to see if it is in any way sleepy.

Dean chuckles, walks over to sit beside Cas. "You were out for pretty long, dude. You okay?"

"Where's Sam?" Cas asks.

"Went and got himself his own room," Dean says. "I think he was trying to be nice."

Cas nods.

"Seriously, you were bleeding and you've been asleep for five hours, Cas. You never sleep."

Cas tilts his head to the side. "I thought you said watching people sleep was strange."

Dean stares at him for a moment, and then says, "_You're _strange."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "We've established that. What happened?"

Dean shrugs. "Couldn't change the past, got beaten up by your ex-buddies, Michael showed up…"

"Michael?"

"Yeah, you know, big brother? Wearing my dad, actually, and man, was that ever weird."

"Dean, if Michael—"

Dean holds up a hand. "Dude. Michael came, he saved our asses, told us we had no free will and that we were both gonna say yes, he zapped us back here, and that was it. No freaky mind games, no nothing. And since it all happened thirty years ago, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say there's no lead for us to follow, so really, it doesn't matter."

He raises his eyebrows at Cas, daring him to object. Cas doesn't.

"The more important thing for now is you," Dean says.

"Me?" Cas asks hesitantly. He's never been all that important.

"Yeah," Dean says, as if it were obvious.

"Dean, I am fine."

"No, you're not." Dean's voice is tight with anger, and for a moment, Cas doesn't understand. "You were bleeding, Cas. You were bleeding and unconscious and you shouldn't need to be fixed."

"I've told you before, I'm cut off from heaven. I'm losing my grace. I understand that this is not ideal, and if you'd prefer me to stay away, if I'm becoming a liability—"

Cas stops short, or rather, his last words are smothered by Dean's lips against his, Dean's hands grabbing his cheeks and pulling him close.

"You are not a liability," Dean says. "You're…you're my…you're Cas. And you're sticking with us. And you're not going to do that to me again."

"Do what?"

"Get hurt. You're not allowed to get hurt."

Cas leans his forehead against Dean's. "I can hardly help it."

"No more risky angel mojo," Dean says. His eyes are closed, and Cas thinks it's a shame, because up close, Dean's eyes are more than just green, they're a million other colors, and not any minute spent not seeing them is a wasted minute.

"You wanted me to transport you."

"It was stupid. It was a stupid matter of life or death and it didn't change jack shit. Just…promise me you won't hurt yourself for me?"

Cas huffs out an amused sigh against Dean's lips. "Dean," he says, pulling far enough away that he can look into Dean's eyes. "I've already hurt myself for you. I dove into hell to save your soul, I rebuilt you with my own hands, I let heaven punish me for you, I cut open my flesh and used my blood to protect you, I left my home for you, and if that's what it takes, I'll pull every feather out of my wings one by one just so I can stay with you as long as you live." He said it so blankly, so matter-of-factly, that Dean's breath catches in his throat.

"I love you," Dean says. He doesn't say it often, but when he does, it makes Cas's borrowed heart beat faster, and it makes his borrowed stomach fill with butterflies. Dean pulls Cas close again, then, and presses kisses to every available patch of skin, pure luck making him miss Cas's collar and nostrils. "I love you," Dean says again. "I love everything about you and if I don't say it don't ever forget it because I love you, and I don't understand anything about you but I love you."

He keeps saying it, too, over and over as he presses Cas back into the sheets and just kisses him, for all he's worth. There's no ulterior motive, they're both too drained, physically and emotionally, to even be considering sex. This is just Dean, getting lost in affection, getting high on emotion.

They kiss until Cas has struggled out of his trench coat and kicked off his shoes; they kiss until he's pressing Dean back into the mattress, they kiss until their heads grow foggy with too little oxygen and too much exhaustion. They kiss until both their lips are swollen and red, they kiss until Dean has hickeys on his neck and Cas's hair is standing at odd angles from the way Dean likes to run his hands through it. They kiss until they stop; and then they cuddle, though Dean's never ever calling it that.

"I'm tired," Cas says, eventually. It's a novel experience for him.

"Sleep," Dean says. "I'll be right here."

They drift off just like that, Cas's head pillowed on Dean's chest, both of them still fully clothed.

Dean wakes up before Cas does, hours later, but he doesn't move. He just lies there, lightly tracing the lines of Jimmy Novak's sleeping face. "If you're listening," he hears himself whisper, "It's me, God. Dean. And I just wanna say, I'm sorry. If I'm doing this wrong. And I'm sorry for what I did to Cas. And also, thank you, because I sure as hell don't deserve this."

Cas makes a mumbling noise and shifts in his sleep, nose pressed into Dean's breastbone. He lets out a sigh that sounds like pure contentment, and suddenly, Dean wants to cry.

-

**Notes: **1) The song stuck in my head while writing this was Matchbox 20's "Downfall". It seems strangely relevant. 2) I had an alternate bunny for post 5x13 fic. What if Cas couldn't make it back to the present and got stuck in the 1970s? What if he then *literally* watched over Dean as he grew up? ...I can't write it. For one, I have no time. For another, I *really* have no time. So, if anyone wants it, it's up for grabs ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Salvation (Was Just a Passing Thought)

**Rating: **NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Word Count:** 2,188  
**Fandom/Pairing:** SPN, Dean/Castiel  
**Notes:** Fifth and most likely final part of the first series I have written in forever; will make more sense if you read the other parts first. Possible blasphemy, beware.  
**Summary:** The thing about Castiel is that, though his faith, once won, is incomparable and irreversible, he's kind of like a brick wall.

The thing about Castiel is that, though his faith, once won, is incomparable and irreversible, he's kind of like a brick wall.

He's not stupid, he just doesn't understand things on instinct or thoughtless obedience, and he doesn't really accept things until he understands them. He has a scientist's fanatic need to take things apart and study each piece until he understands, and rebuild very, very slowly, with the goal of grasping the precise mechanics used to create (and this is meant both metaphorically and literally, because Castiel can tilt his head to the side and peer into Dean Winchester's soul and study each new piece like a medical student with a corpse, but it is still remembered that, once, on a stakeout with Remiel and Hadiel, he got bored and used his vessel's hands and a screwdriver to take a toaster apart because he wanted to know what made the bread jump up).

This, in the end, is why it was comparatively easy for Castiel to leave heaven's army. His faith is unshaken, his faith in God, that is, but he never did understand the chain of command and the needless bureaucracy.

It's refreshing.

Castiel is several thousand years old, but his soul is brand new and as shiny as the feathers on his heavy black wings every single day. He's truly a child on the inside – curious, untarnished by the tired way the world feels, and still desperate to please and make everyone happy.

The problem is, though, that you can't just tell him things are a certain way, because he'll always want to know why. He has, one does have to admit, acquired a rudimentary sense of tact, but even if he doesn't ask, he'll still wonder, and he won't believe until he knows.

In context, this means that there are only two things he can believe in without explanation: God and Dean Winchester. For Castiel, choosing to believe in something is just that, a choice. It's not exactly a clear process, though. He chose to believe Zachariah was acting on God's orders, but when proved wrong, he could accept it. If someone were to attempt to prove Dean's ultimate fallibility, Castiel would deny the existence of the solar system to prove them wrong. Beyond his almost fanatical need to understand, there's a deeply ingrained spirituality about him, at odd angles with his need to understand.

He needs to understand everything, except for some things.

It's a very human trait.

Either way, his faith comes from within, not from outside. He knows, as all angels do, in his soul, that God exists. If he weren't an angel, he'd probably be one of the types to deny God's existence for lack of proof.

His belief in Dean is more esoteric in nature. It's more like love than faith most times, but no one ever said the two were mutually exclusive.

(This is, of course, not to say that Castiel doesn't believe in toasters, because after all, he knows how those work now. However, believing in toasters is a lot less spiritual than believing in God, and thus not subject of this particular excursion.)

The point of the matter being the following: Castiel doesn't understand, and probably wouldn't if you told him, that you don't find God. God finds you.

Castiel has always wanted to meet God, even before he met Dean and the apocalypse began. Now he has reason to, however strange it may seem.

His search is thorough and exhaustive, and, quite honestly, one can't help but admire him. His concept of God is nowhere near as confined as could be feared. He wanders through playgrounds, inspecting children's eyes for the presence of God, unaware of parents drawing their kids away from the freak in the trench coat.

He stands perfectly still in a forest in central Europe and, with the help of his grace, he inspects every blade of grass, every leaf, every single molecule, and he doesn't find God anywhere.

He stands in the geographic center of the Sahara Desert and weighs every rock and every grain of sand, and around his neck, Dean's amulet pulses on and off in a strange rhythm, but it doesn't heat up, it just quivers, and Castiel assumes it's not used to being around an angel's neck.

He searches everywhere and in everything, when and where he can, when he's not chasing ghosts with the Winchester, but by night, he lies in motel rooms, between sheets that smell like stale cigarette smoke and sweat, curled tight against Dean, unheeding of the way their skin slip-slides and sticks and shivers uncomfortably depending on what state Dean's in.

Castiel barely ever sleeps, it's true, but there's a rest more profound than unconsciousness in the way Dean's breath feels, huffing against his skin, continually reminding him that Dean is exhilaratingly, gloriously alive.

The amulet heats up, not supernaturally, just the heat of skin on metal.

One night, in the haze of love, contact and lazy Texas heat in May, Castiel wonders if maybe this is how to find God.

He forgets the thought shortly afterwards.

Castiel never forgot things when he was a proper angel.

He's not a real human, though, either, and his strange inbetweenness frustrates him.

He's somehow lodged between understanding and not understanding the intricacies of humanity, these days. They have such an indescribably wealth of emotion in them, every day, and it overwhelms Castiel anew every time he feels.

On the other hand, he does vaguely comprehend the human need to hide emotions in sarcasm.

Life is like a box of chocolates. Life is like drowning very slowly. Love is like fire. Love is…

And Castiel doesn't understand any of the comparisons, but he's reasonably certain the whole point is not understanding. The point is feeling.

And feeling…feeling really is a bit like drowning.

Still, even though he can admit to the necessity of avoiding the burning intensity of direct emotion by making it sound like less than it is, analogies confuse Castiel. Why call a dog a cat if you can call it a dog?

He's also beginning to believe in the reality of emotional reasoning, because he's caught himself doing it.

He certainly doesn't know how you can have emotions and not act on them. The words, "I love you" seem to fall from his lips uncontrollably when Dean is near.

Dean almost always smiles, and, sometimes, gruffly, he says, "You, too, Cas".

It should be enough.

Mostly, it is.

Recently, though, a different sort of need stirs in Castiel.

It happens when he has Dean pressed into grimy motel sheets, when he's sucking kisses into Dean's lightly tanned shoulder, when he hears himself gasping out how much he loves Dean, words spilling out of his lips without bypassing his brain first.

"Love you…too…" Dean says, the end of the last word caught in a choked moan when Castiel nips at his collarbone. Dean has a very nice collarbone.

Castiel stops.

Dean pushes himself up onto his elbows. "Something wrong?" he asks. His cheeks are flushed pink and Castiel marvels at his thick eyelashes in the half-light of one little crappy motel lamp.

"I need more," Castiel says.

Dean leans up to kiss him. "That's why we're here, baby."

Castiel has long since overcome the inherent ridiculosity of the idea that he, who is thousands of years older than Dean, can be Dean's 'baby'.

He pushes Dean down into the sheets again, sliding down so he can lick and bite at a nipple, the suddenness of the move startling Dean into letting loose a series of increasingly wrecked and needy moans.

"I don't," Castiel says against Dean's skin, squirting lube onto Dean's belly and scooping it up with his fingers to prepare Dean, "mean this. I don't just want reciprocity, Dean."

Dean's eyes are wide and pleasure filled; Castiel's fingers stab none-too-gently at his prostate just to see his pupils dilate further. "Wha…what do you want?" Dean hisses as Castiel's fingers scissor, as his hips move involuntarily up, seeking friction where there is none.

"Capitulation," Castiel says hungrily against Dean's mouth, just before he claims it in a vicious kiss. He draws his fingers out, knowing Dean isn't quite sufficiently prepared and not really caring, and he thrusts inside Dean's body in one long slow push.

Dean groans loudly around Castiel's tongue, and Castiel can do nothing but move his hips hard, and fast, and so indescribably good, even as a small part of his mind likens his behavior to that of an animal rolling about in the mud.

"I," he says, his words interrupted by the frenzied pace and his own gasping breath, "I want you to be _mine._"

And Dean, well, Dean just…melts. The tension, the fight, drains out of his body, leaving only hunger and love. His legs hook around Castiel's waist in a way they never have before, in a way that's not so much un-masculine as it is desperate. His hands grab at any available skin, tousling Castiel's hair, wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him in for another kiss, even though they can both barely breathe. His body is pliant on the bed, just letting Castiel take what he wants, even as Dean himself grows so desperate he begins to plead.

Apparently, it was the right thing to say.

"Please," Dean says. "Please please please please, Cas, oh, oh my g – oh, touch me, _please_."

His eyes roll back in his head as Castiel thrusts hard, right _there_, at the same time as his clumsy human hand grabs for Dean's genitals and begin stroking just as harshly as he's fucking.

And then the analytical part of Castiel's mind just stops functioning completely, because Dean starts writhing and moaning uncontrollably, as if he were completely beyond words. And maybe he is. The thought makes Castiel growl and take yet more, groaning and kissing the word "mine" into every available patch of skin.

When Dean comes, he screams, a long, drawn-out noise that causes the people in the next room over to pound on the wall, and just as the last pulse leaves him, he groans out, "Yours," and Castiel is gone.

The world, he thinks hazily as he collapses down onto Dean in the aftermath, seems to be spinning faster than usual.

"Oh, fuck," Dean says. His voice is even lower than normal, and his throat is so dry it comes out cracked. "Oh, _fuck._"

"I…" Castiel begins, but then realizes he doesn't know how to finish that sentence. He pulls out of Dean's body, wincing at how sensitive his own is, and how raw Dean's hole must be. He drops down next to Dean, their heads resting side by side on the pillow, arms and legs still somehow tangled together, covered in sticky semen and sweat.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Castiel says, rubbing a finger around the stretched skin on Dean's anus.

Dean shudders. "Trust me, you didn't," he says. "Are you okay?"

Castiel feels he should be the one asking that. "I don't know," he says, honestly. "I feel…human."

"I thought you said I wouldn't make you fall," Dean says, fear and trepidation clouding his expression.

"You aren't," Castiel says. "I'm making me fall. But…I'm not, as well."

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like humans do," Castiel admits, "I feel…so much. And my grace is losing power, but I have no desire to rip it out. I think I'm just…sliding."

Dean makes a strange noise and presses closer to Castiel.

"Angels," Castiel says, "don't need to possess things. People. I need…I needed to _own _you, Dean. It's…overwhelming."

Dean laughs shakily. "I'll say. Damn, do you know how…hot that was?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "I was there."

This time, Dean's laugh is less shaky and more honestly amused. "Damn, I love you," he says.

The slow seeping warmth of contentment spreads through Castiel, like sunshine on a lazy morning. He kisses Dean slowly, languidly, and when they separate slowly and Castiel sees the green-grey-brown of Dean's eyes staring straight into his own, he has an incomparable sense of rightness.

"Oh," he gasps.

"What?" Dean asks.

"I think," Castiel says, "I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"I don't need to look for God," Castiel says. "I just…"

Dean gives him a questioning look.

"I just need to trust that He knows this is right."

"Do you?" Dean asks.

It's a while before Castiel can bring himself to stop kissing Dean in order to say, "Yes."

-

The next morning, Sam turns to give him a strange look as Castiel slides into the backseat of the Impala.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nothing, yet," Castiel answers.

"Okay," he says. "What's going to happen?"

"What's going to happen," Dean says, as he slams his door shut behind him and puts his mediocre coffee in the cup holder, "is that we're gonna fucking win this shit."

They drive off fifteen miles over the speed limit, with April sun warming Castiel's skin and Dean's presence warming his heart.

He slips just a little further in humanity, and it feels good.


End file.
